nearer to the house, and as the
walks were here broader and lighter, one might distinctly discern
that it was a human being, the form of a tall, stately man, that so
cautiously and stealthily approached the house. And what is that,
sparkling and flashing in his girdle--is it not a dagger, together with
a pistol and a long knife? Ah, a threatening, armed man is approaching
this silent, solitary house, and no one sees, no one hears him! Even the
two large hounds which with remarkable watchfulness patrol the garden
during the night, even they are silent! Ah, where, then, are they? Carlo
had himself unchained them that they might wander freely--where, then,
can they be?

They lie in the bushes far from the house, cold, stiff, and lifeless.
Before them lies a piece of seductively smelling meat. That was what had
enticed them to forget their duty, and, instead of growling and barking,
they had with snuffling noses been licking this tempting flesh. Their
instinct had not told them it was poisoned, and therefore they now lay
stiff and cold near the food that had destroyed them.

No, from those hounds he had nothing more to fear, this bold, audacious
man; the hounds will no more betray him, nor warningly announce that
Joseph Ribas, the venturesome thief and galley-slave, is lurking about
the house to steal or murder, as the case may be.

He has now reached the house. He listens for a moment, and as
all remains still, no suspicious noise making itself heard, with
pitch-covered paper, brought with him for the purpose, he presses in one
of the window panes. Then, passing his hand through the vacancy caused
by the absent pane of glass, he opens one wing of the French window,
and, by a bold leap springing upon the parapet, he lets himself glide
slowly down into the room.

Again all is still, and silent lies the solitary, peaceful villa.
Suddenly appears a small but bright light behind one of these dark
windows.

That is the thief's lantern, which Joseph Ribas has lighted to
illuminate his dark, criminal way.

He cautiously ascends the stairs leading to the second story, and not a
step jars under his feet, not one, nor does the slightest noise betray
him.

He is now above, in the long corridor. Approaching the first door, he
listens long. He hears a loud breathing--some one sleeps within. With
one sole quick movement he turns the key remaining in the lock. The door
is now locked, and the sleeper within remains undisturbed. J